


Needlework

by White Aster (white_aster)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, Medical Procedures, Needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OR Five Times Arthur Demonstrated His Proficiency With Needles and One Time He Didn't Have To</p><p>Five times fic, roughly chronological, pre- and post-canon.  Gen but...this is ARTHUR AND EAMES.</p><p>"Is the needle dull?"  Arthur's perfectly-shined shoes came within view to stand next to his chair.  "Sometimes they come out of the package defective.  Here."  He took the end of the IV line from Eames' fingers, which was fine, since Eames was rapidly running out of fingers to apply pressure with.  Eames didn't see what Arthur did, but a piece of gauze appeared out of nowhere, edging under his bloody fingers to press against the wound.  A moment after that there were fingers in SURGICAL GLOVES over his own, checking under the gauze and then slapping a piece of tape over it.  A moment after THAT gauze soaked in alcohol appeared to swipe away the blood that had escaped, and after all that then there was the IV line again, with a shiny new needle on the end.</p><p>Eames blinked at all this medical competency and looked up, impressed and allowing it to show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needlework

Needlework

OR

Five Times Arthur Demonstrated His Proficiency With Needles and One Time He Didn't Have To

 

"What ARE you doing?"

"Ow! Damn. Bleeding all over the bloody place, apparently." Eames sighed, putting pressure on the wound. He didn't look up, not particularly wanting to see the look on Arthur's face. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the chap yet, and if their oh-so-put-together new point man was looking at him like a toddler who'd made a mess, Eames didn't want to know. Not when he needed to concentrate on the forgery he was supposed to be perfecting down there. "Not terribly good with needles, is all. Sometimes takes me a few tries."

"Is the needle dull?" Arthur's perfectly-shined shoes came within view to stand next to his chair. "Sometimes they come out of the package defective. Here." He took the end of the IV line from Eames' fingers, which was fine, since Eames was rapidly running out of fingers to apply pressure with. Eames didn't see what Arthur did, but a piece of gauze appeared out of nowhere, edging under his bloody fingers to press against the wound. A moment after that there were fingers in SURGICAL GLOVES over his own, checking under the gauze and then slapping a piece of tape over it. A moment after THAT gauze soaked in alcohol appeared to swipe away the blood that had escaped, and after all that then there was the IV line again, with a shiny new needle on the end.

Eames blinked at all this medical competency and looked up, impressed and allowing it to show.

Arthur shrugged in acknowledgment. "Practice. I'm pretty good at getting them in, too, if you want me to try."

Eames smiled and laid back. "All right. Go for it."

\------

"Are you sure?" Arthur murmured, eyes on the hallway. "The guards--"

"No choice. We won't get another chance." Eames opened the PASIV, wordlessly taking Arthur's gun so that Arthur could hook up their mark. The man was so heavily self-medicated that he'd probably not wake if armageddon started outside the window. His guards, though, were another story.

Arthur came at him with the IV line, sliding the needle in on Eames' off hand and then taking his gun back. His eyes were already on the hallway again as he pushed the injector. "Good hunting."

"Always," Eames said, lying back on the floor. Arthur moved to cover the door on cat-silent feet--a silent, deadly guardian--as Eames fell under.

\-----

Eames shifted, mind already counting down, like no doubt Arthur's was. He settled in next to the sleeping mark and had barely gotten his sleeve up when Arthur was there, line in hand, and the hot slide of needle under his skin was lost in the adrenaline of knowing he only had an hour dreamtime to finagle the mark's passcodes out of her subconscious and then leave her sleeping alone as Arthur drove her to her corporate headquarters. Nothing like working on a deadline.

"Drive carefully, darling," Eames said, as Arthur pushed the injector. "And have I mentioned you look positively fetching in that chauffeur's cap?"

He saw Arthur smirk and salute, but missed his reply in the warm surf of somnacin rolling over him.

\-----

"You," Eames said, as he looked away, "are superhuman. I believe the proper term is 'hardcore'."

Arthur's lips twitched, but given that he was stitching up a three-inch gash on his forearm with nothing but some incredibly shitty bourbon for anesthesia, Eames wasn't surprised. He drew the needle out one more time, tightening the last knot, but only after Eames came around with the scissors and trimmed the thread did he sit back, easing out a shaky breath. Eames nudged the bourbon closer, and in other circumstances he would have enjoyed the sight of a shirtless Arthur drinking straight from the bottle a lot more.

Eames whisked the bloody rubbish away, shoving the dirty needle (for lack of anything better to do with it) into the little bottle of complimentary shampoo their fine motel had provided and tossing the whole thing in the trash. He pulled out the gauze pads and tape from the chemist's shopping bag, then the antibiotic cream. Arthur made to put the bottle down, but Eames shook his head, squeezing gel out onto the wound and gently spreading it around with a swab. "No, no, keep drinking. I've got it."

Arthur nodded his thanks. "I shouldn't," he said. "We both need to be alert. In case we were followed."

"We weren't," Eames said. "Though how you drove like that with this--" he gestured to the wound he was dressing "--I'll never know."

"It's only pain," Arthur murmured, eyes closed, forehead pressed to the bottle. "Only pain."

\-----

"Should I be worried?" Eames asked quietly, as Arthur had him squeeze a wad of paper towels three times and hold, please.

"Hmm," Arthur said, murmuring in that way that meant "don't bother me just yet" as he bent over Eames' arm, latex-sheathed fingers weilding the needle and its dangling tubing. He slid the needle in further up than Eames usually went, but then Eames' elbow to wrist--like that of every dreamworker--was a maze of bruise-purple collapsed veins from injection after injection. His other arm was mostly healed. It was probably time to switch again.

The needle was larger than usual, the pinching burn a bit more pronounced as it settled in the vein. Arthur taped it down and pulled out a collection tube, attaching it to the line. Eames watched, slightly fascinated as his blood leapt out of the tubing to fill the glass.

Arthur watched it for a moment, then pulled the full tube off and replaced it with another with a different colored top. Another moment, and he pulled that one off as well, settling both tubes in a rack on the desk. "I don't know," he said, just as quietly. "Yusuf is the expert. If he says we need to check for toxicity, we should check for toxicity. How do you feel?"

"Better," Eames said. "Less fuzzy about the edges." He rubbed his temple with his free hand as Arthur pulled the needle out (painlessly, of course, nothing but the best) and pressed gauze over the tiny wound. "Sorry about that, by the way. I've never seen a dream turn bad that fast. I've usually got a lot more control than that."

Arthur's lips quirked. "I know. I could tell something was off as soon as we started. I'll be charitable and let Yusuf's new drugs take the blame." He tossed the needle and line in the sharps bin and looked at Eames critically. "Lie back for a bit, and then I'll take you home."

"Promises, promises," Eames said, by instinct more than design. Flirtation was an old, worn path by now. "You don't need to, if you've work to do. Hotel's not that far."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "You've just had an extremely bad reaction to an experimental psychotropic drug that made your subconscious attack BOTH of us and then had you hallucinating dragons for half an hour. I am not letting you walk anywhere alone."

"They were very nice dragons. Japanese, I think. I blame Saito."

Arthur just shook his head and pressed a band-aid over the needlemark. "Rest, Mr. Eames."

Eames rested.

\-----

"--wasn't supposed to take that long. Move it, people. Ariadne, get him hooked up. Taylor, you know the drill, right?"

"Watch the door, music in ten."

"Exactly. Eames--"

"Ready." Eames was already there with a cannula, turning Arthur's arm over even as he sat down on the couch. Arthur had lovely veins. Eames slid the cannula into a particularly nice one in his elbow, easy as breathing. Eames grabbed one of the other lines and took his own seat next to him, settling his own needle in the back of his hand.

Arthur nodded, the working lines around his eyes easing a bit.

"He's ready," Ariadne said, taking her own seat, then her own line. "Me too."

"Go," Arthur said, and Eames hit the injector. He sat back, and they fell into the dream together.


End file.
